Addicted To Darkness
by Jaza Nike
Summary: PROLOGUE ADDED! The story of the reason for Slytherin House, and what makes someone a Slytherin. Formerly Midnight Compulsion, but I found a better title. Rating due to certain possibly disturbing plot elements. . .
1. Prologue

            In the pitch black of a circular room, two eyes snapped wide open. The owner of the eyes lay there in the darkness, shaking. It was bad. He couldn't remember it being this bad before. The ache tore through his insides: unbending demand, irresistible order, pitiless compulsion. He had to get out. He couldn't deal with this where he was. He sat up, pushing a hand through the curtains to grope for his wand on the table beside the bed. Finding it, he sat up. He was halfway out of the room before realizing he was barefoot, but it didn't matter. The moor stretched out empty for miles around. There would be no one to witness this curse in action. 

            The curse. He didn't even know what it was. "_I don't quite know how this will affect all of you. . ._" They had no idea. Lycanthropy would be a blessing compared to this hell. At least werewolves were only out of their minds during the full moon.

            He stumbled down the large staircase in the front hall. _It's like being homicidally drunk. . . _Suddenly, a noise caught his attention. The orange and white cat that had got in a few days ago through the kitchen door was slinking around the cobwebby wooden chairs at the side of the hall. His eyes lit up. Not as good as another person, but still enough. He wouldn't even have to leave the house and risk being seen. . .

"Here, kitty kitty. . ."


	2. Chapter One

Blaise Zabini walked into the library lugging her school-bag. She went straight to the back corner and threw her bag onto a table. It thumped loudly. Madam Pince appeared from behind a nearby shelf and gave her a reproachful look. Blaise gave her one of her most innocent looks.

"Sorry. The teachers give us sixth years so much homework."

Madam Pince snorted and disappeared again. Blaise grinned and took out a roll of parchment and her quill. Messing with adults was so much fun. She walked over to the shelf closest to the Restricted Section -her favorite part of the library- and began looking through the titles. 

"Let's see. . . _The Terrors of Werewolves_. . _Creative Cursing for the Cursed. . .Famous Vampires of Eastern Europe. . ._what's this? I've never seen it here before..."

The book was tattered and worn, and it looked ancient, even from the spine. She pulled it off the shelf, revealing its title.

"_History of the Dark Wizard Hralfingar. _Hmm..."

She took it back to her table. Pushing her parchment out of the way, she settled in to read. 

* * *

**Foreword**

**Pandora Messerchmidt**

   The rise and fall of the Dark Arts in Europe follows a cyclical pattern, one that can be traced back quite far back into history, beginning with Cnut the Black of the early Vikings. However, though many experts have tried for decades, there remains today no proof, or even strong suggestion, that this Dark Cycle existed before Cnut. There were isolated Dark uprisings and malicious deeds, certainly, but these were sporadic and infrequent. It would seem that Dark wizards, now the almost constant scourge of Europe, truly began with this first Dark Lord, Cnut the Black, and his apprentice, Hralfingar the Crazed. The question we must now ask ourselves is, why?

* * *

Engrossed in the book, she didn't hear the footsteps behind her, and only noticed the other student when the book was plucked from her fingers.

"Hey!" She turned around in her seat to see a tall, blond boy leaning against a bookshelf, thumbing through the pages. "Draco! Give that back!"

He looked over at her and smirked. "Draco, is it? Just last week you were calling me Malfoy. Make up your mind, Zabini - or should I say Blaise?"

Blaise rolled her eyes. "Last week you convinced Nott that the spell on the girls' dormitories doesn't work if you're wearing a dress, so he tried to sneak into his girlfriend's room at 3 in the morning, wearing something that looked like it belonged to a Gryffindor's grandmother."

He snickered into the book. "That was hilarious. I never thought he'd be dumb enough to actually TRY it. . ."

"Yeah, well, it woke us ALL up! At 3 in the bloody morning! And it was entirely your fault, _Malfoy_. You're a bad influence on him."

Draco winced in mock fear. "Oh, no, we're back to Malfoy again. How have I ruined your life this time, oh Exalted One?"

She glared. "You stole my book. Without even saying "hello" first. Now give it back."

"The horror. Not just yet, Zabini, this is quite interesting. . ." He continued leafing through the book, stopping now and then to read choice passages out loud. "_In ancient times, Dark wizards were scarce and infrequent. One wonders what cataclysmic occurrence instigated the insurgence of Dark wizardry into today's trouble-wracked society._ Yes, one does wonder, if only to figure out what ungodly thesaurus you were using. . . Oh, Merlin, look at this: _The plagues of malevolence which wrack -  _He likes that word, doesn't he?  _- which wrack our wizarding community nowadays can be traced unswervingly back to the warped experimentations of Hralfingar the Crazed. _Good lord, Zabini. What insane alchemist did you nick this from? - Hey!"

Blaise had come up next to him and snatched the book back. "Malfoy, just because you can only pronounce two-syllable words doesn't mean we're all linguistically challenged." She sat back down at the table and found her place again. "Don't you have something better to be doing? Terrorizing first years or fighting with Gryffindors?"

Draco raised his eyebrows. "That is no language I've ever before had the displeasure to read." He came over and flopped into a chair next her, leaning back to prop his feet up on the arm of a third chair. "So, Zabini, how's life?"

She glanced over at him. "Madam Pince will have 17 different kinds of fit if she sees your feet on that chair."

He smirked. "No, she won't. She likes me. And good morning to you too, Princess Charming."

This time Blaise didn't bother to look up from the book. "It's not morning, genius, it's afternoon. And Madam Pince doesn't like any of the students. She barely tolerates the teachers."

He sighed. "Once again, your superior wit and logic are simply too much for my brain to handle. . . It looks like I'll be forced to go wander the hallways, alone and forlorn. . ." He looked at her with big, fake, puppy eyes until she snorted into her book.

"Draco, you are such a ham. Now go away, this is interesting."

"More interesting than me?" He continued making puppy eyes. "Tell me this doesn't just rip out your heartstrings. . ."

She rolled her eyes again and put the book down on the table. "Draco, you and I both know that you only do this when you want something; it's been that way since we were five and you wanted to sneak out of the nursery. So what is it this time?"

He grinned mischievously. "I was hoping you'd ask that." Before Blaise could react, he reached across the table and kissed her full on the lips. "Thanks."

"Aaaah! Draco, you insufferable Malfoy bastard!! I'll get you for that!" She glared.

He stood up and bowed. "And now I think it's time for me to go. . ."

"Too right it is! Get out of here before I hex you."

He snickered and left at top speed, getting out of range just before Madam Pince arrived, drawn by the raised voices.

"Miss Zabini! What was that ruckus about?"

Blaise looked up. _Shit._ "Uhh, Madam Pince. . . We – I mean I – were, uh, was. . . discussing homework?" She looked hopeful.

Madam Pince frowned. "By yourself?"

"Um, well, yes. – Madam Pince, can I check this book out?" She picked it up off the table and held it out.

Madam Pince looked as if she were about to say something stern, but instead took the book and examined it. "_History of the Dark Wizard Hralfingar_?" She looked suspicious. "This wasn't from the Restricted Section, was it?"

Blaise tried her best to look innocent. She hadn't _taken_ it from the Restricted Section, but for all she knew it might originally have belonged there. "Of course not, Madam Pince! That would be. . . despicable!" _Smooth, Blaise. Very believable._

Madam Pince continued to look skeptical, but took out her wand and waved it to conjure up a quill in a bottle of ink and a very long roll of parchment. "Very well. Sign down here, please."

Blaise took the quill and wrote down the book title, then signed her name. She handed the quill back to Madam Pince, who sniffed disapprovingly - no doubt still miffed about the "ruckus" – and then hurriedly gathered up her bag and book and left. She wanted to finish reading this somewhere certain other Slytherins wouldn't rudely interrupt . . .  


End file.
